Not Alone
by IHeartNealLarkin
Summary: Someone from Aramis' past has come back to haunt him, and not only haunt him - but to destroy him if they could. Aramis will learn that he doesn't have to bear the burdens of his past alone and that two mother hens will always come to his rescue. Join Ara
1. Chapter 1

**Not Alone**

**Disclaimer:** It is to my deepest regret to inform you that I own none of these characters, only the ones that I had created for the story.

**A/N:** This is my latest try at writing a story for this fandom. My last one was just a practice run, even though it wasn't well received. I wasn't going to allow that from stopping from writing this story. The title is lame I know. But I couldn't think of a better one, so I would watch out if I were you, as I may change the title. Let us also ignore Buckingham warships heading off to France, as this is to bet set in the 2011-movie-verse, what can I say Aramis is delicious to look at. I am also not going reveal what I have install but I will warn you to watch out for someone, who meant to have died in the movie. Please enjoy.

**Summery:** Someone from Aramis' past has come back to haunt him. That is all that I will put in this summery for the story will reveal all.

**Chapter 1:**

There was something in the air that had caused Aramis' hair to rise up on end. He felt eyes watching his every movement. He was just about to head of to the tavern, when he felt first felt eyes observing him from afar, and it would be there, were he would be meeting up and enjoy a hearty meal with his best friends. He felt blessed. Knowing that God had granted him the greatest reward he could ever have asked for. Had shown him what it is like to have three brilliant friends. He did enjoy being a priest for what it represented but he knew deep down in his heart. That his life was meant for something more and that is something that cannot be found in the grandest of Cathedrals.

True, to live the life of a Musketeer could become quite trifling and not what it was said to be. But it is what it is. And Aramis could not ask any more of God. He will always pray to his God to keep his friends safe and warm at night, to allow them to be happy during the times that are dark.

It had been almost three months since the whole fiasco with Buckingham, Diamonds, the Queen's reputation, and Milady's betrayal, and of course one could never forget about the airships.

The last few months had been full of many tough and exciting missions. It is only now, that they were finally granted a reprieve, so, that they could rebuild their strength and to get some much needed respite.

It was the very thing that everyone truly needed to do.

Aramis exited one of the many crowded streets as the picture of his friends had immediately ensnared his attention.

D'Artagnan, the newest edition to the Inseparables, was laughing at something Porthos had said and it would appear that even Athos was having a good laugh. It was good to see Athos being able to laugh after the damage Milady had inflicted upon him and it was all due to D'Artagnan. Together. They, Athos, Porthos and Aramis, owe D'Artagnan a great deal for barging into their lives with that cocky and arrogant attitude of his.

They had all changed over the course of the last few months.

Perhaps it is God's gift.

The eyes that Aramis had felt following his every movement had disappeared into the mass crowd. Even though he did release a brief sigh in relief, Aramis still could not shake the feeling that he was still being watched.

It could be nothing.

Aramis could just be getting paranoid.

"You're late," Porthos cheekily quipped, as he took a quick sip of his wine. "And what was her name?"

"Would it be a shock to you? If I were to tell you that I was not with anybody this time," Aramis smiled warmly at his big friend, all the while sending the same smile towards the other two. "I was being held back by a man who didn't like the idea of receiving a citation."

"And what did this man do to have received this citation of yours?" Porthos asked dryly.

"Did his horse do a dump on the street?" D'Artagnan said with a warm smile, remembering the day he had first met Aramis.

Smiling brightly down at his young friend, as Aramis too remembered how he gave D'Artagnan a citation due to Buttercup taking a dump on the street. "No, his horse didn't take a dump on the street. But rather it was due to him leaving his cart right in the middle of the pathway. Causing a brief blockage.

"Did anyone get injured?" Athos asked, his eyes were raking his dear friend apart to make sure that Aramis is unharmed. It came as a relief to see that were no signs of any kind of wound marking the former priest body.

"There were a few civilians hurt, but none that were too fatal," Aramis had caught the way Athos' eyes were piercing their way through his defences. "And as you can see, Athos, that I am not hurt. So, you can stop giving me that look of yours, now."

Both Porthos and D'Artagnan were finding it difficult to stop themselves from choking on their drink, which almost intensified the moment Athos, threw them a glare.

"Right! Now that we are all here – why don't we find something to eat," Athos said, he voice hid the laughter that was bursting to escape and it was clear on his face, that he was finding it difficult not to laugh, or to show some kind of emotion.

"Thought you'd never ask," Aramis quipped in as he took a seat on Athos' right side, as Porthos sat on the left and that had left D'Artagnan sitting across from Athos.

With nothing but their camaraderie, and their food, to contend themselves with. The four Inseparables enjoyed the time they had together, without having to fear for each other's backs getting wounded.

Just when Aramis was becoming accustomed to the comfortable presence of his friends, he felt the watchful eyes watching he and his companions. Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, hoping that he will get a glimpse of whoever is watching him.

"Is there something wrong?" Porthos had noticed the way Aramis' grin was no longer visible upon his face.

"Why you would believe that there is something wrong?" Aramis quipped in a sarcastic tone.

The fact that he can feel unfriendly eyes watching him had put him on edge did not help the matter of him snapping at his friend, his brother. It is not uncommon for him to be sarcastic every now and then, but when he uses that sarcastic wit of his to snap at his friends. That is the moment when someone should at least be starting to get worried.

The eyes could mean nothing. Maybe they could be mistaking him for someone else.

Aramis will never know unless he can find the owner, the eyes belong too.

"My apologizes, Porthos," Aramis does not want to his friends to be concerned on his account and he also wants to know why he wants to apologise when it was fairly obvious, that there is nothing for him to be sorry for and yet he felt as though it were his duty to apologise.

"There is no need to apologise when it is obvious that you are distracted by something, or rather by someone," said Porthos. "Could it be that one of your many mistresses had received the wrong handkerchief."

Aramis could only reply by giving Porthos one of his many mischievous and mocking glares. Which had only caused everyone of his friend, yes including Athos, to laugh mirthlessly.

"When are you going stop working for the city?" Porthos was once again being the one to bring up some kind of a conversation.

"Today was my last day on the job," Aramis replied with a smile that reached his eyes.

"So, does that mean no more handing out citations to those whose horse does something natural on the street?" D'Artagnan cockily grinned at the former priest.

"Why don't we talk about something else? And to answer your question D'Artagnan," Aramis said to the young man sitting on left side of him, "No. I will no longer be giving anyone a citation because of a few horse droppings."

"What a relief it is to hear that," D'Artagnan is still a little confused by Aramis giving him a ticket because of a few horse droppings.

Athos was just about to say something when he heard an unnatural sound coming from Porthos' direction and that very sound had made some of the other occupants, that were seating near by them to, cry out in disgust. Porthos of course looked oblivious to the to sound and the smell that was wafting its way through.

"Porthos!" Aramis wanted to hit his friend silly for doing something so humiliating in public. "Next time do that somewhere in a place that is not in a public area."

"What! I can't help it that I had to release some wind," Porthos snapped at the former priest.

Once again Athos was rudely interrupted, and this time not by one of Porthos' farts. But rather by a man, whose finger was pointing rather rudely, in Aramis' direction.

The look on Aramis' face was resigned of any emotion as he too had taken notice of the man, wearing a rich, and a rather bland, looking garb.

There was something about the man that had caused Athos to feel uneasy and it was clear to him that it had something to with the former priest. The uncontrolled anger on the strangers face, said it all.

"You! I remember you!" The man shouted at Aramis.

"You, sir, should mind your manners," Porthos told the darkly clothed stranger.

"You mind your business! This has nothing to do with you! This is between the so-called priest and I!" The man spat at Porthos, his spit hit the big Musketeer smack bang in the face.

"Hello, Gabriel," Aramis said to the man.

Gabriel was once a priest in training, the same as he, and he used up most of his time making Aramis' life difficult –

"- You remember me?" Gabriel grinned at the former priest.

"How can I not forget about you? So, tell me! Gabriel? How is Michel?" Aramis remembered how close Gabriel was to another young priest-in-training.

"How dare you speak his name!" Gabriel yelled at Aramis.

Gabriel's yell had caused both Athos and Porthos to stand up, causing their stools to fall to the ground, and they were prepared to do anything to stop this man from harming their friend.

"I think it is time for you leave monsieur," Athos menacingly said to Gabriel.

Athos could not sit idle while witnessing a stranger yelling at one of his friends. He will never sit idle while someone is being down right rude to either one of his friends, his family.

"Oh, have no fear. I have no intentions on wasting my energy on this pathetic excuse -"

"- Who are you calling pathetic?" Porthos just called not keep his tongue idle any longer.

Even though this Gabriel hasn't spoken much, he mainly yelled, but still, Porthos will not stop himself from killing this pathetic excuse of a man, if he so much as harmed a hair on his best friends head. And he is certain that D'Artagnan, and Athos, will join him.

"There will come a time when your friends are unable to help you," Gabriel took a step forward, brave, but foolish of him nonetheless, considering the fact that there are now three Musketeers boring down upon him, towards the still seated man.

"At least my friends won't stab me in the back," Aramis coldly said to the man he once called _friend_.

It was true. Despite Gabriel, and Michel, giving him a hard time. They were in some way, someone Aramis was once proud to call friend. They were all close once, but then it all began to fall apart. The reason behind their failed friendship is not worth bringing back up again. As it was too painful to dig it all back up again.

Gabriel sent a seething glare in Aramis' direction, not forgetting to send a glare to the other Musketeers, and then he left the motley crew.

Aramis believes that he had finally found the one watching him all of this time.

Without sparing his friends a thankful look, Aramis got up and left the tavern. But he did not leave alone, as his friends; his dear friends – his brothers – were walking alongside him.

There were no words that need to be said, at least not in public.

The emergence of Gabriel could mean many uncertain things are to come and with, or without, his friends.

Aramis will face this approaching storm head on.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

**My thoughts and preys are with the fire fighters, they are heroes, fighting the fires that are ravaging Tasmania. **

**Chapter 2:**

Every now and then, Porthos, kept on shooting a concerned look in the direction of Aramis, who had not said a single word after what had transpired in the tavern. This Gabriel must have wounded the former priest in bad way, or it could be that Aramis was the one at fault, Porthos will not assume anything on this case, at least not until Aramis is ready to speak.

Porthos will not push Aramis in order to understand what the whole fiasco in the tavern was all about. He does want to understand. But he will not push his best friend. Aramis will bulk and clam up. He will become silent.

Never before had someone from Aramis' past had come to light. It was usually Athos – but that is another story entirely. D'Artagnan had so far become the main one out of the group to be the one to get injured more then any of them. There are so many different scenarios running through, Porthos' mind right now that it is not even that funny.

Everyone has story to be told.

There will always be some kind of a skeleton buried deep in someone's closet.

Aramis is no exception.

Porthos, himself had to endure a lot – but that was all before he became a Musketeer.

Every one of them has got something to hide, to be kept locked up inside them. Until that said secret comes back to haunt them.

Not all secrets stay hidden for long – it is now blatantly obvious that one of Aramis' secrets is about to re-emerge into the light of day. And Porthos will remain vigilant. He will be there to protect Aramis' back – no matter what the former priest will say. Porthos will be there and so will Athos and D'Artagnan. They will all be there.

As, Aramis had done for them in the past.

"Do you mind telling us what that was all about?" Athos' voice broke through the fogs that were Porthos' chain of thoughts.

"I would rather not say anything," Aramis replied in a toneless voice.

"Whether you wish to tell us or not, is up to you," Athos said to his friend. "But remember everyone of us are here for you, the same applies to each and everyone of us."

"I understand what you are getting at Athos," Aramis said, trying to put some kind of life back into his voice. "I am sure that we will not be bothered by Gabriel again. It isn't in his style to stick around one place for very long."

"Who is Michel?" D'Artagnan asked as he recalled Aramis speaking that name to Gabriel.

"An old friend of mine," Aramis is grateful to be surrounded by great friends but there is something inside him holding his story back.

"If this Michel was your friend? Then why did Gabriel -"

"Because Gabriel too, was an old friend of mine. Both he and Michel were both training to be a priest, around the same time as I," Aramis did not mean to cut young D'Artagnan off in that way.

Even though he does not want to talk about it and yet, his whole body feels like as though a great weight has been lifted. Almost though talking to another about his past is exactly what he needed to do. Perhaps talking to his friends is not such a bad thing after all.

"I will explain more about what transpired," Aramis said to his friends. "Once we have reached our home."

"Are you sure?" Porthos knows Aramis well enough to know that the former priest always finds some kind of an excuse not to tell anyone about his days as a priest and yet here he is, wanting to open up and tell them.

That Gabriel must have shaken Aramis to the core, if he wants to spill his beans.

"No I -"

Whatever it was Aramis was about to say was cut short by the sound of a pistol being fired.

Aramis was in too much of a shock to cry out, as his left forearm feels as though it were on fire. He felt his body doubling over, as his right hand clutch his wound. Blood was staining his hand. Blood was dripping off his fingers, staining the pavement.

He was oblivious to what was transpiring. He heard his name being cried out, felt a hand clasping him on his right arm.

His hair was falling into his eyes, obscuring his eyesight momentarily.

"Aramis!" He had heard Athos calling out his name through the simmering ashes that the fire in his arm had lit up.

It is not the first time he had been shot but the pain still remains the same. The first time he had been shot had been by the one Aramis had once called friend. He is still unsure, till this day, what it was all about. What had driven his former friend to wound him so? Could it be that Gabriel was jealous? Envious of the way the Father Abbot, at the time, was showing interests in a young and inspiring priest. Gabriel had never learnt how to quell his envy, it was always Michel – kind Michel – to be the one to come in-between the so-called-friends. Michel had been trapped in the firing line a fair bit.

Or did all of this have something do with what had happened to Madeleine the girl that both Aramis and Gabriel had fallen for, or was to do Jean, Gabriel's brother, the first man that Aramis had ever killed. He had killed Jea - Aramis is not even going to take himself there.

Not when his mind is starting to clear the smoke away from his mind.

"The man got a way," D'Artagnan's voice is what had brought Aramis out of the pain-infused haze. "I never got the chance to get a glimpse of the mans face."

"That's all right D'Artagnan," Aramis found himself saying through clenched teeth.

"Are you all right, Aramis," Athos said with concern and anger lacing his voice.

"It's just a scratch," Aramis managed to flash his concerned friends the best smile he could manage, without it having it turning into a grimace.

"I will be the judge of that," Porthos growled as his hands took hold of the former priests blood slicked hands.

"This is neither the time nor place to get a glimpse of my scratch," Aramis said to them. "It will be better for it to be treated at home."

"Fine! Have it your way," Porthos is surrounded by three of the most stubborn men he had ever met, though he too can be quite stubborn – that is beside the point – the point is that Aramis is clearly wounded badly, though thankfully it is only just his forearm and not elsewhere.

"I am no where as bad as Athos or D'Artagnan, Porthos, when it comes to scratches," Aramis smirked slyly as he eyed the two he had mention to Porthos.

"That may be so. But you are just as stubborn," Porthos had abandoned the idea of taking Aramis' hand away, so he could get a better look at Aramis' so-called-scratch.

"Let's get out of here then," Athos dryly quipped in.

"I thought you'd never ask," Aramis was amazed with himself, amazed by the fact that he can still stand and can find the strength to continue on walking.

"And then we'll treat that scratch of yours," Athos could not stop himself from smiling at the look upon Aramis' face – the face which had caused many ladies to swoon and fawn over.

**TBC**

**A/N:** I will promise that the next chapter will be longer. It is just that I felt that this was a good place to stop at. The next chapter will feature: Aramis' scratch getting treated and will Aramis tell the others about Gabriel and Michel? And more is to be featured in the next chapter. I would also like to thank the ones who had taken their time to review and to read my story. I truly appreciate it.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_There were so many things of which Aramis would liked to have said right now – right when his future of being a man of the cloth will be put to the test. How could he have been so foolish as to believe every word that she had told him? He had been gullible enough to be have believed that she loved him and he had loved her in return. But everything she had told him had been a lie. She did not love him. She never did. She had tarnished the love he had for her the moment he had found her in the embrace of another man. That man, that the brother of his so-called friend. _

_Gabriel had even had even jested about that feat when he had laughed about it. _

_Gabriel had believed that he were the better man in the eyes of God, all because he had a brother who liked to hurt those who dare to hurt his brother and now boasting to the world that his brother had stolen his one time friends girl._

_Madeleine's fair cheeks were stained with her tears… those tears that were trying their hardest to make Aramis believe that she had made a stupid and foolish mistake. She had claimed that her heart does not belong to Jean but with Aramis, is where her heart belonged. _

_Aramis had longed to believe her words, if he had not been so shocked as to keep his outraged silence, he would have fallen for her all over again._

_In a way he still loved her._

_How could he not? When he was even willing to give up the cloth just to be with her. _

_But now that future is now gone, disappearing into the mists of time._

_Everything that had happened afterwards had all become one big blur._

_Aramis remembered the fight between he and Gabriel, and poor unsuspecting Michel had stepped in to stop them from killing each, but alas. It was Michel who had to pay the price first. Aramis isn't even certain who was truly responsible for Michel's death. Gabriel had instantly blamed their friends death on Aramis._

_Gabriel had shouted words that were not the kind of words that you would find a priest accustomed with. Aramis, despite still being in complete and utter shock of seeing one his friends lying still on the ground, with a pool of blood creating a halo around the dead mans head. Was he the one responsible for cutting Michel's life short or were Gabriel the one responsible. They would never know as they had both accused the other for being the one to be blamed._

_After still hurting from the pain of betrayal, feeling the love he once he thought to be genuine for Madeleine, strangling him from any coherent thought._

_Many lives had changed after that tragic day and was not until a few months later did Aramis clashed arms against Jean, Gabriel's brother, the pair of them had done nothing but brought misery into Aramis' mundane life. It was then, feeling the weight of his sword, did Aramis truly realised that to be a servant of God, to be a man of the cloth, aren't always the same thing._

_Despite Jean's boastings of being a great swordsman, he did not last two minutes in the fight. The duel had ended as quickly as it had begun. The tip of Aramis' sword had found its way into Jean's heart, even to this day Aramis had found it hard to believe that Jean had a heart._

_Gabriel was outraged and to be completely honest – who could blame him. After all he did loose Michel, whom Gabriel had once said was like a second brother to him, and now he had seen his big brother die right before his very eyes._

_It was not long after that did Gabriel grab hold of his sheathed pistol and Aramis was unaware, as he was saying a little prayer for Jean. Gabriel had taken shot at Aramis; he had been aiming straight for the heart of the man who had stolen his brothers from him._

"And that is all that I am going to say upon the matter of my past with Gabriel," Aramis said to his friends.

Aramis was standing with his back facing the fire, which Planchet had lit, so he could face all of his friends equally. To take note of the way their faces had changed colour during the course of Aramis' speech. He was cuddling his bandaged forearm against his stomach.

They were lucky to have reached their home without any further incident.

It was not until after Athos had tended to Aramis' wounded arm, despite feeling faintly after loosing some blood, but that did not keep Aramis from telling his friends about the story of his life. He told them about Madeleine, about Michel, about Jean the first man he had killed in a duel and most important of all, he had told them all about Gabriel – well not all of it. As has not told them how he had met Gabriel or even about how he had fallen in love with Madeleine.

After all, does Aramis not have the right to keep some things hidden in his closet?

His friends are yet to say a word; maybe they just too spellbound to say anything – too shocked to speak.

"If… I mean… did you say Michel's name to spite Gabriel?" D'Artagnan was uncertain on what to say and yet, the need to say something about what he had learnt or at least kill the silence.

"I knew that saying either Michel's name or even Jean's, that it would cause Gabriel's ire to rise – but yes," Aramis had noticed the way both Athos and Porthos had thrown the young Gascon a look full of disapproval and yet, Aramis felt grateful for D'Artagnan being the one to kill the silence. "Now are there any more questions that you would like me to answer for you?"

Aramis was beginning to feel weary and tired, and as much as he loves his friends, he would like to find some peace to recollect his thoughts. There are so many things that he would like to forget and to remember. His mind is full of raging thoughts and his arm hurts – is that too much to ask for?

But was not going to leave the dining area until the others retire to their own rooms, or at least not until they have eaten the meal, which Planchet had prepared for them.

"Could it be that Gabriel was the one to have taken another shot at you today?" Athos asked Aramis.

"It could have been anyone, Athos. It may not have been Gabriel but I am not going to cross him of the list either," Aramis moved to take a seat on his favourite chair. "We shouldn't jump to any conclusions just because of Gabriel deciding it was a good idea to shout at me."

"Whether he shot you or not," Porthos began to say to his friend to quell the raging fire burning inside him. He wants to go out and search for the man who had dared to take a shot and injure his best friend. "I think we should go and seek him out -"

"-No!" Aramis said to the big man. "I don't think we sho -"

"Than what would you have us do?" Porthos did not mean to snap at the former priest but there was no way else that he could release the anger simmering inside him.

After hearing what Aramis had gone through is enough to make anyone's ire rise in anger. And what is even strange, despite the shocking tale, Aramis had also been betrayed by a woman. Both Athos and Aramis have something in common now.

Perhaps that is one of the reasons why Aramis has many mistresses and is no hurry to settle down with one of them. That could explain a few things.

"What we should do is not to loose our heads," Aramis snapped right back at Porthos. "Now is there anything else we should discuss, or do?"

"We could always have some of that roast beef that Planchet had cooked for us," D'Artagnan, being the typical young he is, always thinking with his stomach, as did just growl in ravenous hunger.

"What an excellent idea," Aramis is pleased to find a way out of the discussion about Gabriel and everything else that has now become intertwined.

"I am still yet to get to you about that scratch of yours," Porthos was still amazed with Aramis for not fainting after loosing so much blood and yet now here is the former priest, still standing, looking slightly pale, but other then that. The former priest looks like he had never been injured.

"That is because it was just a scratch," Aramis grinned at the big musketeer.

"I'll give you both a scratch if you do not learn to be quiet," Athos slyly said to the bickering men. " I swear sometimes that you two bicker like on old married couple."

D'Artagnan could not stop himself from laughing at the sight that the bickering pair are making, "He is right you know," he managed to say through his uncontrolled mirth.

"Oh, ha, ha," Porthos sarcastically said to the giggling Gascon, while glaring mockingly at Athos. "Very funny."

"I thought it was funny," Planchet said the moment he brought in the meal he had prepared for his masters. "No I didn't." He said in a rush after receiving multiple glares from Athos, Porthos and even Aramis, the only one not glaring at him was D'Artagnan, as good the kind young master, was still trying to get his laughter under control.

"That is what I thought you said," Porthos growled at the chubby lackey.

"You are going to wet yourself if you keep on laughing like that," Aramis kindly said to the young man. "Then it will be a laughing matter."

* * *

A few hours later had soon found Aramis lying down flat on his back, the moment he had stepped foot inside his bedroom, he had immediately went straight for bed. Not bothering to strip into his nightclothes – the only thing he had bothered with was removing his boots.

He didn't even remove his weapons, besides the dagger sheathed behind his back. All that he had wanted to do was to lie down and to think. To think of what had transpired today.

Seeing Gabriel again had been really difficult to comprehend and then there was someone trying to take a shot at him. He does not want to jump to any conclusions just yet… but he can't help it.

Not after telling his friends all that they needed to know about his past, which is something that Aramis had never once thought he could do tell his friends anything about his past – after all his past is his own, is it not.

**A/N:** And cut! Chapter 4 is on its way. I have deleted the last few paragraphs, as it is no longer working for me. I will just let you all know that I will be returning to work so I may not be able to update as much as I would like. I do not have a beta for this story. Should have said that two chapters ago but what the heck.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

Aramis woke up, feeling the cool morning breeze tickling his bare skin. He sat up, causing his blankets falling down, exposing his bare chest. His bandage that was wrapped around his forearm, a painful reminder of the events of yesterday came back rushing to him. His past had come back to haunt him with a pistol ball into his arm.

Swiping his right hand, drowsily across his face, Aramis hoped out of bed. He could not sleep any more, now that his past wants to reoccupy his mind. Wearing nothing but his sleep pants, he walked across the small room, to get to his closet. But not with out lighting a few candles, as the sun was rising.

He did hear his bedroom door creep open, "What do you want Porthos?" Aramis did not bother to turn around to meet the intruder to know who it was.

"Did you not hear me knock? I have been pounding against your door for the last few minutes!" Porthos crossed his arms as he leaned heavily against the doorframe. "How's the arm this morning?"

"And what was the reason behind your infuriating pounding?" Aramis asked the big man. "And to answer your question – my arm is just peachy thank you for asking."

"We have been summoned by M. de Treville," Porthos casually replied. "Athos, by the sounds of things, is still trying to wake up d'Artagnan."

"I will be right down," Aramis said in indication that he would like to change into some decent clothes. "Unless you want me to wear nothing but my nightclothes."

"If you do that then there will be a lot of ladies, swooning and fainting at the sight and they could become scarred for life," Porthos smirked at his friends back.

"And we wouldn't want that, would we," Aramis turned his head throw a knowing smirk at Porthos. "Are you going to allow me to get changed or are you going to stand there all morning?"

"Meet you downstairs," Porthos did not leave without throwing a sly smirk at his best friend.

"Go and aid Athos in his quest to wake up our young friend," Aramis mischievously said to Porthos. "It does indeed sound as though he could use some kind of aid."

Porthos could only chuckle in reply as he closed Aramis' door behind him, allowing his friend to have as much privacy as he could.

* * *

A few hours later had soon found the four inseparables returning from M. de Treville's office, the place where they had all been awaiting patiently to learn about why they were summoned so early in the morning. They did arrive a few minutes later then they had originally planned and d'Artagnan is still showing how difficult it was for him to crawl out of bed. The poor young man could not stop himself from yawning.

Aramis had aided in his friends plight, once he had finished making himself presentable for the outside world, to go and to wake up his young friend and they had tried almost everything, even throwing a bucket of cold water did not wake d'Artagnan from his slumber.

Eventually they did manage to successfully wake him up and then they had to wait for the young Gascon to make himself presentable for the outside world, which were the streets of Paris. And now they had returned to their home to prepare themselves for their new mission.

They had all been asked to aid a small village, that is being overrun by vicious bandits and they were to bring to back to Paris immediately. It all sounds like an easy mission but not all are what they seem, nothing ever really goes easy for the Inseparables.

One way or another, they always find themselves fighting for their lives and that of each other.

It was also a good distraction for Aramis, with Gabriel and everything else, being pushed back farther out of his mind. So that he could concentrate upon the mission at hand.

"I am still uncertain about you coming with us on this one Aramis," Athos conversed with Aramis, as they were the only two alone in the main living area packing the things that they will need for the mission and the trip ahead.

"And why is that? Athos! I can still fight," Aramis said to his old friend and leader, "I may not be able to fight with my usual flare, but I am still capable in a fight."

"I am not questioning your ability and capability in a fight," Athos had than placed a hand upon the slightly younger man's shoulder, so that it would be enough to cause Aramis to look at him. "I am talking about Gabriel -"

"Which will be exactly what I should do? Get out of Paris – because I am certain that he will strike again when I least expect it… and this mission will also be the very thing that I need," Aramis quietly said to Athos in hopes that the older man will understand him. "You of all people should be able to understand what I am trying to say Athos."

Athos did understand what Aramis was saying to him and yet, there is something that is making him nervous, but he also knows that Aramis could very well be in an even bigger danger by staying here in Paris.

"Let's go then shall we," Athos found himself saying to Aramis instead of other words.

Aramis only laughed softly as he watched Athos walking out of the main living area, and then he too, walked out of the room.

He had soon found himself riding upon his steed, Bucephalus.

* * *

**A/N:** I would like to thank everyone for reading and to reach this part means that you are about to go back to your normal lives. I would like to say that I have changed a few things about Chapter 3, mainly the ending. And I would like to apologise for that. Well I do hope that you had enjoyed Chapter 4, chapter 5 will be coming shortly. Have a great morning/afternoon/evening/night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

A few hours passed, since the four riders had left the comforts of their home, in Paris, for a village that had been targeted by a mob of cruel bandits. The villages had done all that they can to drive back the wave, which were the bandits constant attacks, but to no avail. So, when they could not do what they have done many times before, they could not drive back these particular bandits, as they are more vicious then the ones that came before.

They had sent word to the King, pleading with their written words, on a stained scrap of parchment, for some much needed aid and relief.

King Louis, after learning of this atrocity, had immediately sent word for de Treville, ordering his good captain to send out his best – the best of course meant the four Inseparables, for they are the best ones to accomplish what the poor villagers ask for. They will do whatever all that is required of them and they will do what they have been ordered to do, despite them needing some much needed respite of their own. The four Musketeers will not refuse an order from the King, no matter what their needs were at the time.

Aramis had found something to aid him in his quest to escape from his past haunts. The very past that was responsible for inflicting pain upon his arm, which will not cease its constant throbbing, causing him, momentarily, to ride with only one hand taking hold of the reins.

May be it was a mistake to tag along on this new adventure that he and his companions were on.

He would not have caused himself to endure the pain, throbbing beneath his dark sleeves, or to injure himself even more – if his past had not decided to return with a shout and a bang.

He is not afraid of Gabriel and yet there is part of him cowering, taking cover in the shadows of his dreams, where Gabriel had not returned.

The others may not act any difference towards him if he were to show them all the effect, which Gabriel is causing him. They will not – as fear is an emotion that every human will experience in life.

They may tease him for it but he will expect no less from them, if they did tease him. That is just who they are.

But Aramis is not entirely certain if what he truly feels – exception is being made for the pain throbbing, every now and then, of which is coursing its way through his wounded arm.

He ought to feel anger, hatred, or at least something along that line of emotions and feelings, but does not feel those things. What he feels is great sorrow, he is saddened by the loss of friendship. Of what could have been if the events of the past did not play out as they did, but only fool would cling on to such thoughts. As it is impossible to go back and to alter what has been done, and Aramis would hate to think of where he would be without his current friends – the ones he sees as the closest things he has for a family.

"How much further is it?" d'Artagnan queried no one in particular as he could no longer stand the silence any more.

"Not that much further," Athos said in a reply to his young friend, understanding the young man wanting to do something more active then riding a horse all day in silence. "An hour at the most."

Aramis was truly grateful to have found the very thing he needed to distract his mind from travelling down the road leading towards his past, a place he has no desire to revisit, even though it has chosen to see him once more.

"I'm bored!" d'Artagnan exclaimed out loud.

"I am Porthos, I am pleased to have been made your acquaintance, Monsieur Bored," Porthos quipped in cheerfully.

"Are you aware that you are not very funny," d'Artagnan remarked to the big man and he threw a smirk over his shoulder for the big man to witness.

"I have been trying to him that myself," Aramis pitched in mockingly, he smirked at the man riding beside him.

Who in returned glared mockingly at the former priest. "Ha, ha, hilarious," Porthos wryly commented.

Aramis was about to say something to his big friend, when Athos chose at the moment to rein his mount, to ride on the other side of Aramis.

"How is that arm of yours going by way?" Athos asked the former priest, as he had caught the way Aramis had cradling his arm closer to his body and is no longer holding the reins.

"My arm is just going great thank you for expressing your concern, I will pass on the message," Aramis replied dryly, ignoring the looks that both Athos and Porthos were giving him. "Quit looking at me like that, it is disturbing my horse."

Porthos was about to say something to the former priest when his chance to do so was stolen from him, when the sound of musket fire broke out. Birds were crying in distress as they took to the skies, seeking refuge among the heavens.

The horses became restless as their masters pulled them to a halt, as though attaining as much information of just where the musket fire came from. They were nowhere near the village, as they were to be at the village by nightfall, and nightfall is not yet to take over the day's light.

What came next where excited voices yelling amongst the trees and the sound of horses' hooves trampling the ground, and they coming closer to where the four Musketeers sat upon their horses.

The musketeers did not get the chance to do anything as men rode out of the trees and they way coming from every direction, cutting off the Musketeers. The four friends quickly exchanged looks with one another before they glared at the bandits, as it were obvious now who the men are by the state of their clothes.

"Well, well what do we have here boys!" One of the masked bandits, obviously the leader of the pack, spoke enthusiastically to his men.

"What do you want?" Athos demanded of the one who spoke. "We have no coin that you could steal -"

"Oh, they are not here to steal from you, though they could if they so choose to do so," another man spoke out and it was the very voice that had caused shivers to run down Aramis' spine, he knows that voice.

He'd recognise that voice anywhere and he had heard it just this week. This was going to turn out to be the worst week ever, in his opinion.

"Than what is it that you want?" Athos had not seen the way Aramis was watching the second speaker and if he had, he would have known what it was all about, despite him still learning of the former priest's history.

"I want only one of you, Musketeer, and it was just so wonderful to learn that the King was fooled by the villages plea, when they are in no signs of distress," the second speaker replied coldly.

"Why can't you just let the past die, Gabriel?" Aramis spoke before Athos could and he ignored the way all three of his friends turned their faces towards him the moment he spoke.

**A/N:** Well there you have it! Chapter 5, yay clap your hands. I am sorry for the long wait; life and other stories have been stealing my time. I would like to say thank you to each and everyone of you for being so wonderful, for just being plain wonderful. Chapter 6 will be up when I can post it ok. Don't forget to check yourselves out before you leave, won't you? It would make my day.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Madeleine could do nothing but stare incredulously at the man, dressed entirely in black, with a white undershirt sticking at out at the collar, the man's top was open a t the neck, allowing Elena to get see some of his neck and collar bone. And she wanted desperately to see more of him. She caught sight of the only resemblance, of what he had lost, and what he had been. Around his neck, was a golden chain, which would no doubt bear the cross of his Lord.

She had not forgotten all of those years ago, when she had given him her heart, she would still give it to him if he were to seek a second chance. But Madeleine knows that will impossible. It is to late for her to seek his forgiveness and he to seek hers for disappearing from her life, when she had needed him the most.

Her love for him hasn't died, Gabriel knows this and so he is using that love against her. Madeleine had been caught in a web, tangled in its sticky embrace, not knowing how to save herself. She had no one who would save her, not even the one man she depended on.

But he wasn't aware of what was happening behind her closed doors, he is well aware of Jean, but he saw what he didn't see.

Madeleine had tried her hardest to make Aramis see, to believe her, but she had wounded him with her betrayal. She wounded him so deeply that he spurned his love for her away.

Would he recognise her even now, with a rag covering up her face, disguising herself as a man. This isn't what she does, it is not she – but Gabriel had forced to become something that she is not.

There is no going back for her now; she is trapped between a hard place and, well, Aramis.

Should she follow her heart's desire to turn her back on the one that started this feud?

Why couldn't Gabriel have kept the past where it ought to be? What had possessed Gabriel to dig up the past and to seek out the man who had taken his brother a way from him? What must she do?

Who ever had thought that a daughter of a prostitute, who knows nothing about her father, could ever step so low, even lower then that of her own mother. By aiding those who would do all they can to bring down a one man. The leader of the marauders, Pierre, was Michel's brother, and he had listened to the words spoken by Gabriel. And now Pierre would also like to have a hand in bringing down a former man of the cloth, a man of God.

No one knows who is truly responsible for Michel's untimely death and yet everyone points their finger, to lay the blame on the shoulders of a King's Musketeer.

Madeleine would also like to bring down the man who had abandoned her to live a life, which she never wanted to have.

He had broken her heart when he had disappeared, Madeleine had heard of his name being spoken by those who have witnessed what a former priest had had become and they were all spoken with great praise. Aramis had become a household name and his name was never spoken alone, as he and two others have become something of a legend.

Madeleine no longer knows, nor does care, about the fate that awaits Aramis and his friends. He deserves every ounce of what he is about to endure.

Listening to what her mind is thinking off is bound to make her even more conflicted. She no longer knows what she wants to do anymore.

Why can't anyone hear her heart cry?

Because no listens to her. Who would want to listen to the words and sobs, from a daughter of whore?

She is yet to turn her gaze away from Aramis and her ears have stopped listening to the words that were being exchanged. Madeleine did notice the way Aramis' friends appear to be prepared to kill anyone who would dare to harm, or even kill, their friend.

To Madeleine's eyes, they appear almost like protective brothers, and she is glad to see that the King's Musketeer had finally found what he has been searching for. She is sadden by the prospect of having to kill of Aramis' friends, in order to take him down – but it is what it is. And no one can change it, or put a stop to it.

* * *

How did Gabriel manage to come up with this plan of his? Did he plan this from the get go, well before what had transpired in Paris? Is Gabriel that trapped in the past that he has lost the ability to let go?

Aramis had long ago let the past go, in order for him to move on with his life.

To create ones future, one has to let go, or learn from, of their past.

"I have always wanted to take down a King's Musketeer, as I have heard that they are hardy warriors and their skills legendary," the leader of this group of bandits, that had been bribed by Gabriel, spoke with hidden delight. "My men need a decent challenge and you all fall into their category of entertainment."

"I take it that the story about the village is nothing more then a fable to scare little children?" Athos spoke to the leader with such venom.

"Oh, the story about the village was just something we cooked up in order to get all four of you out of Paris, a way from the safety of your home," Gabriel sarcastically replied, he only had eyes for Aramis. "All of four of you will meet your maker sooner enough, but alas – it is only one of you that will die tonight -"

"Over my dead body!" Porthos growled at Aramis' former friend. "If anyone is to die tonight it will be all of you!"

"Shut up, you oaf!" Gabriel snarled. "I honestly don't care what will happen to you all, as long as Aramis dies. I dreamt about this for a very long time. And I will not be swayed from fulfilling my dream."

"You dreamt of killing me, I don't know whether I should feel insulted or not," Aramis smirked at Gabriel. "For someone who had come this far in order to kill another, you sure do like to talk about it, rather then actually doing it."

He had no idea why he was saying the things he had just said, but he did, and well Aramis was growing tired of throwing back insults back and forth. To get this whole killing business all over with, so that he and his friends could go home.

Aramis had never truly enjoyed the pleasure of taking another mans life, not even when he had voluntarily took the life of Jean's away. He had never enjoyed killing and, perhaps, he will never learn to enjoy killing. He only kills when he has too and the men he had killed had deserved to die.

"I agree! This little spar of words, which we have been exchanging, has grown tiresome," Gabriel coldly said to no one in particular, though his eyes locked momentarily with another bandit. "What say you, Pierre? Do you believe that it is time for us to do the very thing we came here for?"

Pierre obviously was the bandit's leaders name, as he cocked his pistol, he pulled the trigger, and the crack of fire alerted the area of a fight that was about to begin. The pistol's ball had pierced its way through Bucephalus' neck, causing the poor beast to rear in pain. The horse whinnied in surprised and it was by pure dumb luck, that when the gelding began to topple sideways – that Bucephalus would crash down onto Athos' gelding, Noble, causing their riders to fall down on to the ground, and they both landed in a heap.

Aramis had rolled out of the way of his horse, before it could crush him with its dead weight. He will allow himself to shed a few tears for his oldest friend, when all of this all over.

Hastily climbing back to his feet, with his sword automatically in his hand.

A fierce battle broke out, between the King's Musketeers and the bandits.

Fighting back to back, with both of them now without a mount, Athos and Aramis fought the marauders that continuously fell upon them. Porthos and D'Artagnan were also now fighting on foot, not willing to risk their mounts – D'Artagnan especially would be doubly heart broken if Buttercup were to be slain.

The ground had become slippery and sticky, due to the blood and gore spilt, but still the four inseparables stand their ground. All four of them were now fighting back to back, never once did break away from the other. Proudly they fought to keep each alive.

Now fighting with a sword and dagger, his left arm crying out in pure agony, his hand had become slick with his blood, and still Aramis continued to fight. His clothes, which were once just covered in the grimes of the dirt tracks, were now covered in the blood of the men he had slain.

Somewhere, somehow, along the line – the four inseparables broke apart, as the bandits continuously closed in, smothering the four to the point of having to be swept away from each other. Being forced to protect their own backs, but still protecting each other.

Hearing the shouts of the fallen and the shouts of his friends, were about the only things that Aramis had heard, before he fell hard onto the rocky ground below. He did not see the one that had caused him to black out, nor did he see the anguish upon his friend's faces. All he did feel was fire engulfing his side and then he felt no more

"ARAMIS!"

**A/N:** I believe that this is a great spot to take a break at, do you not agree? Do not worry there will be more on its way? Thank you to all that have reviewed my last chapter. I do hope that you will stick around.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Athos fought his way through the remaining marauders, who had come here in order to kill one of his friends, and he had seen Aramis collapse to the ground. He did not regain his footing, he remain lying still on the blood-slicked grass, surrounded by the fallen bandits.

"ARAMIS!"

There is only one man amongst them that could yell like that and it had come to the relief of Athos, to hear Porthos. As, he had been sidetracked, forced to slay everyone one of the marauders that had caused him not being able to keep track on the others.

It was not until he had heard the lone shot of a musket, did Athos manage to see, and what he saw made his blood boil, with his heart thumping in his chest and his stomach quenched in fear. Athos cut down anyone who dared to get in his way.

D'Artagnan was already by the fallen Musketeer's side, his hand pressed down upon a wound, which Athos could not see from where he was fighting. The wound must be bad, judging by the look that was etched upon the young Musketeer's face, and it only caused Athos to lash out, only to find that there were no more marauders to cut down.

The remaining marauders had bolted, fleeing from the mad, deranged, and more deadly warriors, that were the Musketeers, and they fled without bothering to look over their shoulders to get a glimpse of their fallen comrades. Too concern for their skin they were.

Not even Gabriel could be seen amongst the dead or the fleeing.

Athos was uncertain what to feel in relation to Gabriel's obscene and unhealthy desire to take revenge for the wrong doings he believes Aramis to be the one at fault for.

But he will dwell upon the threat of Gabriel no more, as there are more crucial concerns at hand.

"He's alive!" D'Artagnan exclaimed the moment Athos and Porthos had arrived at the same time, to see the damage.

"Thank the Lord for that," Porthos knelt down beside his best friend. "The bastards will pay for the foul trick -"

"Let us dwell on Gabriel and his bastards after we get Aramis to a doctor," said Athos.

"But the nearest town, or village, is hours away, time that Aramis does not have," Porthos aided D'Artagnan's plight to put pressure on the former priests wounded side. "We should try our best to remove the musket ball from his side first before we move him -"

"You do realise that we are about fifteen leagues from Gascon and my home is just on the border," D'Artagnan voiced in, after he had allowed himself to get better idea of where they were and it was true for he could see the not too distant hills, which is where D'Artagnan's family home lies. "My mother knows her way around a needle and thread. There is also a doctor who lives in a hovel not far from it."

"We can't move him until we get the musket ball out. As it could cause Aramis more harm then good -"

"I don't know about you, Porthos, but I am not that skilled, nor do I have the patience that Aramis has when it comes to digging something out of someone's gullet, especially when it comes to a friend," Athos didn't mean to snap as he did.

But it was true, not one of them, other then Aramis, is skilled enough to do the task that is required of them. They are only knowledgeable when it comes to patching someone up and not when it comes to a wound as serious as Aramis'.

"I can help, I have some knowledge in medicine lore," a new voice chose to butt in, a feminine voice by the sound of things.

All three of them swirled their heads around to find a young woman, who appeared to be roughly close to Aramis' age, with waist length dark brown hair, tied back in a loose braid. Her face was round and angular, with a petite little nose that was not as distinctive as the woman may have liked, and her eyes were a very distinctive shade of blue.

It was clear that this woman is considered to be a beauty without being to obvious about it, and she was also wearing clothes, which would suit a man better. There was thick baldric made out of black leather, with a golden buckle, and her sword sheathed by left side. The young woman has seen some dangers in her time, been through much –

"Who are you first?" Athos suspiciously asked the young woman, whose clothes are remarkably made out of the same cloth as the marauders.

"I promise that I will tell you who I am but it is evidently clear that your friend requires aid more, the more time we waste, the more he is closer to drawing his last breath," the young woman coldly replied. "Then we can introduce ourselves, Monsieur Athos."

"How do you know my name?" Athos coldly asked the young woman, his suspicions were overruling his mind.

"Please! I am not offering my aid lightly, my life is already hanging dangerously off a hook, fashioned by Gabriel," the young woman told the three musketeers.

"Look! We could either stand – or kneel – here arguing over anything you would like to argue about! But we must get Aramis to a doctor," yelled D'Artagnan his concern for Aramis and the need to get the former priest to safety is all that he cared about at the moment.

D'Artagnan's yell had caused Athos and the young woman to turn their heads towards him; Porthos also was observing the young Gascon.

"I'm with D'Artagnan, the more we linger, the more we waste precious time, time which the padre does not have," Porthos said.

His hands were becoming slick and sticky with the blood of his best friend, who had become more like brother to him, and he is becoming increasingly concerned for the padre, as the former priest is yet to regain consciousness.

"D'Artagnan, find me something that we can use as a bandage?" Porthos kindly asked the fuming teen, knowing full well that the young man is getting antsy with the lack of movement.

"Didn't Aramis pack a few medical supplies in his saddle bags?" D'Artagnan asked as he did as Porthos had requested of him. "I know I did as well."

"Good, better then the bastards smelly handkerchiefs," Porthos replied with a little humour. "Athos! When you are done with glaring at the young woman? Do you think you could fetch the horses?"

Athos glared mockingly at his big friend but before he fetched the horses, well what is left of them, seeing Aramis' gelding, Bucephalus, had been killed, he heard a groan. A groan that had caused him to stop what he was doing.

He glanced down to fine Aramis' eyelids flickering and fluttering, until they opened fully. Exposing two pain filled green eyes, which usually hold laughter and intelligence. What a relief it was too see those eyes.

"Still alive then padre," said Porthos with a smile toying with the left side of his crude mouth.

"No, just thought…" Aramis had spoken with difficulty. "That I could give you a scare… where are we… what -?"

"Do not concern yourself with Gabriel, or where we are," Athos softly said as he knelt beside his friend. "Just focus on getting yourself better."

Athos placed a hand, to both comfort and to calm, upon his friend's shoulder.

"I got the bandages and some water!" D'Artagnan breathlessly said, as he too return to a kneeling position by the wounded Musketeer's side.

Handing a canteen of water over to Athos, as he was closer to Aramis' head. Athos graciously took the canteen from the teens hand.

Placing one hand to support the back of Aramis' head, while the one gave the injured man some water. "Drink it slowly."

"Right!" Porthos yelled as he had finished, with the aid of D'Artagnan, wrapping a bandage around his friend.

The young woman remained standing where she had been standing originally, not pitching in, as she had said she would do, but she did not.

But she did find her voice again; causing the Musketeer's to glare at her once more, while their injured friend paled at the sound of her voice.

"Hello there, Aramis," said the young woman; her eyes were solely focused upon Aramis and not his friends. "Do not fear, Monsieurs, I am not here to maim or kill Aramis. So, please, cease your glaring!"

"I do not like your tone miss," Athos harshly said to the young woman, his hand had returned to rest upon Aramis' shoulder.

"And I do not like yours. But we should get a move on, if you wish to reach your young friend's home before night fall, I can aid you and you also can not tell me what to do," snarled the young woman in an unattractive manner. "I'll even go and fetch the horses for you, so you can discuss about me behind my back without I being here to listen to you squawk like an old married couple."

"And why should we allow you to come with us? What is there for you to gain -?"

"Enough already," Porthos exasperatedly once again breaking up a battle of words broke out between Athos and the young woman.

Porthos doesn't trust the young woman either but arguing isn't going to get them anywhere, and Aramis' eyes have fluttered to a close once more. The pain must be that great to have pulled the former priest back in the land of unconsciousness.

* * *

After a few more arguing and fetching, the four musketeers and the young woman, managed to make it to D'Artagnan's former home in Gascony. There was much happiness to be had for D'Artagnan and his parents that night.

Bertrand and Margarite, D'Artagnan's parents, welcomed everyone graciously into their humble home, while D'Artagnan rode off to fetch the doctor that he had spoken of, whom lives in a little hovel just over the hill.

There was much tension tangled in with the happy vibe, in the form of the young woman, who is yet to introduce herself to the Musketeers, who is often seen glaring at the back of Athos.

Athos himself could be seen glaring at the young woman.

"You still haven't told us your name miss?" Porthos politely said to the fiery young woman.

"Why do you sound polite, when a few hours ago, you were not so polite to me? Why is that?" said the young woman curiously. "Could it be that you share the same view as Monsieur Athos -?"

"Athos does not trust women, especially women, who are yet to give her chosen companions her name, when she knows ours," Porthos replied in a serious tone. "I, too, do not trust you. For, all we know, this could be some ploy being cooked between yourself and your leader."

"Gabriel is no leader to me," the young spoke calmly with sly smirk. "He had forced me to become someone I never wanted to be the moment Aramis had left the abbey, after the death's of Jean and Michel. I take it that you do know what I am talking about, Monsieur Porthos?"

"I did not know, nor did I need to know, about what had transpired in Aramis' past until a few days ago," Porthos took note of Athos coming to join them in the small bedroom, which Aramis is laying on. "But know this, lady! That I will not sit idle if you so much as touch a hair upon Aramis' head."

"That applies to me as well," Athos hissed at the young woman.

"It does warm my heart up knowing that Aramis had finally found the family he had been searching for so long," the young woman slyly smirked at the two Musketeers. "I knew almost instantaneously the moment I saw you, that the four of you were close and prove to be difficult to kill in an uneven fight. I did not dare to voice out my opinion to either Gabriel or Pierre, as they were both eager to get rid of the one who had ruined their lives. Gabriel had been a miserable wreck when Michel was killed and then he became even more unbearable when he had witnessed Jean being slain by Aramis' blade. I can not even possibly make you believe that what I say is true when you will no doubt take the word of Ar – POINT THAT DAGGER SOMEPLACE ELSE!"

"Do not ever make us, or sway us, with your words in hope of having us to turn our backs on our brother!" Athos scowled.

He had the tip of his dagger pointing dangerously close to the young woman's delicate throat.

"What is going on in here?"

Athos and Porthos turned their faces towards the source of that had interrupted them, to find a D'Artagnan and a stranger, most likely to be the doctor, standing by the door way. Their mouths were gaping with disbelief.

"This young woman's tongue speaks too much for my liking," Athos dryly explained, as he sheathed his dagger. "D'Artagnan will you escort this woman out of my sight before I hurl, or do something even more drastic to her?"

"If you do hurl, remember to clean after yourself, I cannot imagine my poor mother cleaning up the mess you made," D'Artagnan bravely flashed Athos a smirk as he left the small room, with the young woman following him outside.

He left the doctor in the presence of two fuming Musketeers and he isn't sure what is worse – escorting this mysterious young woman, or leaving the poor doctor to deal with a pair of mother hens.

"Why do not just tell us your name before exchanging a war of words with a man, whose tongue can be twice as deadly as his blade?" asked D'Artagnan.

"The name's Madeleine."

That is not what he expected of the barbed tongue woman to say and not in that tone.

"Madeleine? As in _the Madeleine_ who had betrayed Aramis by embracing another man?" D'Artagnan felt flabbergasted as he spoke hastily.

"Yes, _the_ Madeleine are you happy now!" Madeleine replied sarcastically as her arms stretched out in frustration, as hoping to reach the sky.

"That depends on your definition of happy," said D'Artagnan.

Madeleine just glared incredulously at the young man smirking at her, as though deciding what to make of him.

**A/N:** There you go! I do hope that you had enjoyed yourselves? Thank you to all of you had kindly reviewed, I truly mean it, and I do you that you will remember to check out before you leave. I do not know D'Artagnan's mother's name, but I did know his father's name, so I just made it up. Please do hesitate, this story is also more connected to the events of the 2011 film then the actual book or other movies, but I will put a few references up. Have fun.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Huddled together around a small hearth, sipping a warm tankard of honey-wine, or more properly known as mead, while the warmth of a fire crackles and burns. There were five inhabitants sitting quietly, anxiously waiting to hear word, any kind of word that will off the anxiety.

Porthos was forced, not by Athos, but rather by the good doctor, Frederick, to leave the room for being too much of a mother hen. Always fretting, cussing and cursing at Frederick.

Sometimes, D'Artagnan, does wonder how all three of the inseparables have managed to behave like a hen, with its head chopped off, whenever one of them get badly injured. They'll even behave like mother hens just for receiving a scratch. But he will dwell on the funny things, which he had noticed about his companions, later as the door creaked opened.

Revealing Athos and the good doctor.

They both appear grimed faced and worn out.

"What's the word?" asked Porthos the moment he saw the two enter the sitting room.

"The musket ball had lodged itself into one of Monsieur Aramis' ribs, the rib itself was lucky enough not to have broken or cracked at the impact, and let us be grateful that the bullet had not penetrated a vital organ. Either wise, young Monsieur, would not have lasted as long as he had, I unfortunately, even with the aid of Monsieur Athos, could not retrieve the ball from the rib bone," said the doctor in a grim tone. "Such wounds, caused by either by a musket ball or by a pistol, can prove to be difficult. Even in this day an age. Monsieur Aramis, I am afraid to mentioned, will have that musket ball still lodged in his rib – I have read some new medical knowledge and some even from a few colleagues, where they could not retrieve a piece of shrapnel or, in a similar case as monsieur Aramis', but I am sure that you do not need know of all of that. Any questions?"

"Will Aramis be able to still fight?" Porthos asked the first thing that had popped inside his head and the thought of not having Aramis fighting by his side is unthinkable.

"I believe that Monsieur Aramis should still be able to fight, but be warned, he will endure unimaginable pain – he may not recover fully from his wound, it will be a miracle if he does, there is still the threat of an infection. I will able to manage to stay the night just to make sure that doesn't happen," Frederick, the doctor, answered politely.

"Why can't you remove the musket ball from Aramis' rib?" D'Artagnan found himself asking his family's old friend.

"Because the ball itself had lodged in deeply into the bone and I am yet to find any proof of how effective it can be by just removing the rib itself, medicine is still improving and reinventing itself," Frederick kindly replied with a grim smile as he observed all the occupants within the tiny sitting room. "And there was also the issue of blood loss to contain with, Monsieur Aramis, had already lost too much blood on the way here. I dared not to poke around too much longer and the ball, I'm afraid, will have to remain where it is for now. I do believe that it will not do me any favours if I were to have your friend to bleed to death on my watch."

"That's because they are a pair of mother hens, Frederick," D'Artagnan cockily said with a smile to match his attitude.

"Not to worry, D'Artagnan, I have dealt with far worse in my time," Frederick exchanged a witty smile with his young friend.

"Anyway!" Athos smiled wily, despite the anxiety gripping his heart and the fear of having to witness Aramis living in pain for the rest of his life, perhaps even never to fight by his side again, but it did his heart good to listen to D'Artagnan talking so animatedly with his doctor friend. "Is there nothing more that we can do to try to remove the musket ball from Aramis' rib-bone? Or is he truly to-"

"Monsieur Aramis is still young and in his top form, there is always a hope that he will recover from his wound, Monsieur Athos, but be warned. As, I had mentioned earlier, there is not even the slightest chance that I could un-lodge the ball from his rib. I am afraid that there are still some mysterious left undiscovered in the medical world and the way that ball had lodged and I do apologise for repeating myself," Frederick reassuringly tried his best not to repeat himself and still do his best to inform his patient's concerned friends. "I will not know the full extent of the damage, nor the amount pain that he will endure will be until he wakes up, which I hope will be by morning-"

"Uhm, Frederick, it already is morning," D'Artagnan quipped in, his cocky smile still in place.

"D'Artagnan? Since when did you become so -"

"So, amazingly amusing -"

"Amazingly annoying at most of the times," Porthos said with a smirk, not meaning to cut father and son from their banter, but he had to say something to quell down the raging fire burning a hole in his heart. "Blame Athos, Bertrand – it was he who'd corrupted your son."

"Monsieur Athos!" Bertrand was on his feet in an instant, "You've corrupted my son!"

"No, it was not I, but Porthos," Athos glared at the smirking Porthos.

"Monsieur Porthos!" Bertrand amusingly winked at his smirking son. "What have you done to my son? To make him so -"

"So, amazingly amusing," D'Artagnan threw in his words. He ran his hands through his messy lock in a comical wave.

Almost everyone within the tiny parlour wanted to burst out laughing, minus Madeleine, to relieve the unwanted tension that had built up inside of them.

* * *

All that Madeleine could do was trying her hardest at not wanting to sneer at the sight of giggling Musketeers. She had long since forgotten the powers of laughter and the magic that could only be found in the truest form of friendships. She has laughed to please Gabriel's poor attempt at humour and that of what she had to do to keep Gabriel's target occupied.

She had felt the powers of laughter, the magic of friendship, and the wonders of love, but that was all lost on her now. She, however, does feel the cold dread of fear. Fear of what Aramis' first words will be after all that she had done to him.

After witnessing enough of the drop-dead-glares coming from the direction of Aramis' three pathetically over-protective friends, ever since D'Artagnan had let slip her name to Athos and Porthos. Madeleine swore that she should be dead by now after receiving so many death-defying glares.

It is all rather confusing.

What will they do to her when they learn of the name of the one who had fired that musket, which could have, and should have, ended the life of Aramis? Her shoulder still throbs after firing the smoothbore weapon, aiming for the heart of the one, who had broken hers. In hopes of ending the gory battle and Gabriel's lust of revenge will have a reason to burn out.

Or more importantly, what will they do her once they have realised the true reasons to why she is here.

Her death is sure to be certain.

But who will be the one to end her life?

She does not even want to think of that as her thoughts were interrupted by insistent laughter.

* * *

"Monsieur Athos!" Bertrand cried out mischievously, "I must implore you not to corrupt my son, so."

"Too late," Porthos clapped his hand over Athos' shoulder. "I fear, Monsieur Bertrand. That Athos had already corrupted your son."

"It does my heart good to learn that my son has met such corruptible friends," Bertrand warmly smiled.

"Well, as much as I have enjoyed listening to your insistent banter, but you must excuse me as I check up on my patient," Frederick nodded his head as he left the tiny parlour in order to check up on his patient.

The moment Frederick had made his exit, the traces of laughter and all of the teasing banter ceased to exist. Everyone's thoughts, even Madeleine, were once again focusing on the kind hearted Musketeer, who would not doubt tell them not to worry themselves so – but he wasn't. For, he was behind the door, which Frederick had gone through.

"He'll be all right, the _padre_ is tougher then he looks. He is no fainting daisy," Porthos said, more to himself then anyone else.

"Daisies faint?" Athos quirked, as one eyebrow rose at the big Musketeer standing beside him, as though questioning Porthos' sanity.

**A/N:** I feel as though this ought to be a good place to stop this chapter. Do not worry there will be more action to come. I also felt that I wanted to at least be as realistic as I could about describing Aramis' wound without sounding unbelievable. Feel free to tell me what you think about that. Not all wounds magically heal without leaving some kind of scarring and so, I felt the idea of what I wrote. Please do not chuck those shiny dirks of yours at my head, or no updates. Have a great day and I will I let you know that I have a new story in place, in The Mask of Zorro/Legend of Zorro section called to Ensnare A Fox, in anyone would like to know.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

Disoriented, is the first word that came into his mind. As, he tried to familiarise his bearings, understanding where he was and how he came to be in this bed. He swathed in white bandages. His right side felt like it was on fire, engulfed in pure agony that went deep into his bone. He remembered there was a fight – that was all that Aramis could remember.

Another thought jumped inside his heart, a thought that gripped his heart and twisted it, but he held it back. He has faith that everything will be all right and that what he is dreading is nothing more then a wicked dream to scare the wits out of him.

Gradually Aramis opened his eyes. Blinking furiously to block out the bright lights that threaten to blind him. Loud snoring was deafening his ears, and he is wondering how the dead had not come back alive to kill the snorer – that was how loud the snores were. The pale light of dawn peeked through the cracks of the shutters.

Turning his head to the side, the pillow ruffled at the movement, and Aramis believes that he has found the source – the very being where the snoring is erupting. An urge like no other forced his hand from throwing one of his pillows. Wanting to throw something at the snorer would surely kill of the snores, and to save the snorer from the dead from throttling the poor fellow.

For, someone, who is a man of a few words, Athos, sure knows how to make a racket while he slept. 'How thou-? How could a man who is usually quiet, snore so loud?' Aramis thought to himself.

There appeared to be more then one person sleeping inside the small bedroom and his assumptions were just about to proved correctly when a voice boomed into existence, causing the sleeping Athos to sit up straight in the chair he was using as a bed.

"It's about time!" Porthos bellowed across the room.

Standing in the middle of the doorway, where Porthos' colossus form slinked through and he came in with a wide grin, which reached his eyes, spreading across his face. Relief was evident in the colossus's blue eyes – relief of what, Aramis wondered.

"Time for what?" Aramis asked his big friend.

Organising his body to obey his commands, the command to sit up, was most definitely a very idiotic thing to do. He hissed in agony, his body swearing in many colourful words, which would surely make Richelieu blush like a woman.

A steady hand on his arm, "Take it steady." Athos spoke softly.

"What happened? All that I can recall is a skirmish with Gabriel's marauders, and then nothing," Aramis asked his friends, though his eyes were focused mainly on his leader. "And where are we?"

"You were wounded during the skirmish. Gabriel escaped with the remaining bandits," Athos explained to his friend in the best way that he could, in that deep calming voice of his. "We brought you here so you could be treated, D'Artagnan was the one to suggest that we bring you here, to his home in Gascony. As, it was the closest place to ride to -"

"How long have I been asleep?" asked Aramis in a croaky voice.

"Four days," replied Porthos.

"Four days?" Aramis' eyebrow rose inquisitively.

"Four days," Athos said with a trace of sarcasm laced into his tone.

"Four days what?" Came D'Artagnan's que to make his voice heard.

"Four days that he slept," Porthos comically replied to the lad.

"Who slept for four days?" D'Artagnan innocently asked Porthos.

"You know who," Porthos incredulously replied to the yawning teen, which obviously looked like he had just woken up, as his hair is sticking up in the air.

"No, I do not know who," D'Artagnan smiled at the big man. "And it is joyfully good to see that you are awake, Aramis and you are not going to believe the trouble that a pair of hens have been causing around here."

"Oh, I will believe it," Aramis warmly smiled at the young man. "So? Did anyone else get injured, or was it just me this time?"

"Just you," Athos curtly replied. "How do you feel?"

"Feel? I feel like I have been shot," Aramis vigorously replied, smiling wily. "By the way Athos? Did you know that you snore? Rather loudly in fact."

"Have you finally just noticed?" Porthos quipped in dryly. "I have been trying to tell you that since our first mission together. But you were so adamant in your beliefs. Stating I am the snorer and not our fearless leader."

"That is because you do snore, Porthos," Aramis cheerfully informed his big friend. "The pair of you could wake up the dead with racket you make."

"Or even make a house fall down," D'Artagnan dryly said as he went over to sit on the edge of Aramis' bed.

"That too," Aramis winked at the youth.

Aramis then decided to try to sit back up again, and thank the Lord, that Athos did not stop him this time. Instead, Athos aided Aramis in his quest to sit up in bed.

"Now don't say that I snore again," Athos firmly told the former priest without a smile, but there was a smile evident in his eyes.

"Why would I say that again?" Aramis tried to sound as innocent as he could. "Even though it is true that you do snore."

"According to my father, thanks to Porthos, he now believes that Athos had corrupted me," D'Artagnan excitedly told the former priest. Hoping to change the subject as he has been anxiously waiting to tell Aramis this bit of news.

"Well they did corrupt me. So, that does not surprise me in the slightest," Aramis dryly said to his young friend, all the while smirking at his two best friends.

"You did not need any more corrupting _padre_," Porthos chose at the moment to sit on the edge of the bed as well.

"Not from where I stood," Aramis smiled ruefully at his three friends.

"You know I have always wondered how the three of you met," D'Artagnan animatedly conversed.

It was true he always did wondered how three men, who are completely different from each other, come from different backgrounds could become so inseparable.

"The three of us had met during a mission, which happened to be Aramis' first mission, I had already met Porthos but we weren't exactly friends at first," Athos began explaining to the young man who had wormed his way into his cold heart, becoming almost like the son that Athos never had and possibly will never be able to, in that deep voice of his.

"More likely began as mutual acquaintances – and well, allow me to just mention this to you. That our first mission together was nowhere near as adventurous as the one we had shared with you," Porthos pitched in with a mischievous smirk twinkling in his blue eyes. "I… Aramis why don't you tell our young comrade in arms how we met."

"Me? Why me? It is not that complicated to tell is it?"

"Well you… you do know how to tell stories better then us," Porthos adamantly answered the wounded _padre_, pointing frantically at Athos and himself, to prove his point.

But before Aramis could say anything further to his companions, a very feminine voice slyly butted in, "Hello Aramis?"

Alerting the four friends that another has come in, three of them looked like they would murder the woman, while the other just stared disbelieving the sight that his eyes were witnessing.

He had not seen Madeleine for nearly over ten years, he had never wanted to see her again, and she was as pretty as the day that they had parted.

"Madeleine?" Aramis disbelievingly asked the one woman he never wanted to see ever again. "What are you doing here?"

"She was there at the skirmish," Athos began to inform his friend, his voice sounded cold. "She was fighting alongside Gabriel."

"Good morning to you too, Athos," Madeleine sneered at Athos. "Porthos, D'Artagnan. Beautiful morning is it not."

Madeleine smugly smirked, the smirk upon her face made her appear very unattractive, at the four musketeers.

"What, do you have no words that you'd wished to say to me?" She curtly asked Aramis, the one her heart had never forgotten and the very one she seeks to destroy. No matter what it will cost.

"That is because I have no words to say to you," Aramis attentively replied to her, wishing he were somewhere else, somewhere far, far, away from the memories that she alone will force Aramis, to be haunted by.

"Whether you have words to say to me or not, changes nothing – but I will say that the past few years have been kind to you, Aramis," Madeleine chose her words carefully.

Madeleine looked around the room carefully, taking note of the daggers glaring at her as her eyes skimmed over Aramis' faithful companions. "Can I talk to you in private, Aramis?" was all that she had found herself capable of asking.

**A/N:** To be continued. I am truly sorry for the delay, but real life can be a real turd-of-a-party-pooper. If you see any mistakes please do not hesitate to tell me and I will be right there fixing my mistakes. Have a nice day.


End file.
